In the course of a few moments our hero found himself once more in the presence of the great general, who greeted him with a smile.
"Been defending any more churches, or commanding other Frenchmen?" he asked, with a quizzing smile that became downright laughter when he saw how Tom was blushing. "Now, confess."
Tom had already reported the raising of the Spanish force, and lamely admitted that they had been engaged with the enemy. "We beat them off twice, sir," he said. "Then they received reinforcements, and matters would have been ugly."
"Ah, would have been!" smiled the general. "How did they clear up, then? You had an agreement with the enemy?"
"I met a friend," admitted our hero, with rising colour; "one of the troopers who helped to defend the church. Then the officer came forward and told us to move off, and declined to fight further."
"And a gallant fellow he was, too!" laughed Wellington. "However, you cannot always hope for such fortune, though I congratulate you on the behaviour of your Spaniards. How I wish all would act likewise, instead of being for the most part wholly unreliable! But now for a mission—it means danger."
Tom drew himself up and saluted. "Quite so, sir," he said cheerfully.
"It is a species of forlorn hope; discovery means death."
"What are the orders, sir?" asked Tom respectfully, never flinching.